Cuts and Scrapes
by AlsoI'mBatman
Summary: Alfred Pennyworth would do anything to ease the pain of those he loves. He would rid the Acrobat and the Billionaire of all the damage that had been inflicted on them, physical or emotional. But sometimes he has to settle for just healing the cuts and scrapes.


**Cuts and Scrapes**

For some reason when Alfred tended to cuts or scrapes it always left Dick feeling much better than if anyone else had tended to it. There was just something special in the gental but doctor-like precision that came with the Butler's care.

Dick would scrape a knee or cut a finger and Alfred would take him to the kitchen so he could be placed on the counter, and Dick would swing his legs back and forth as he waited for him to come back with an ice pack or band-aid. The frown would always be cured from the boy's face after the treatment and he would continue to bounce around the Manor like a normal little boy. As normal as a little boy born in a traveling circus could be anyway...

Dick never knew what it was about the Butler's treatments that were so comforting. Maybe it was the worry and concern in the Butler's usual stoic features that reminded him so much of the looks his mother or father would wear when he was injured. Maybe it was the way even a paper cut would recieve gental precision as Alfred wrapped a bandaid around the finger. Or how he would stop all bleeding cuts with the same silk hankerchief every time, one that had the initials _AP_, one that that Dick only ever saw on occasions of minor injurys like a papercut or scrape.

Regardless of if when it was the time when he was 8 and he had cut his hand while handing a knife to Alfred because he saw it was required for the fruit he was preparing, or the time he was 18 and he cut his hand when he was slicing his own fruit, he was treated with the same amount of concern, and he was sure when he was 28 or 38 or 48 he would recieve the same treatment.

When Dick was 8, Alfred had placed him on the counter and taken his small hand into his own much larger, and much more aged hands as he inspected the small cut at the end of the boy's index finger. He pulled out the hankerchief and pressed it to the area where small rivulets of blood were pooling. He looked to the face of the slightly teary-eyed youth and assured him that it was just a small cut, and was rewarded with a slightly wavy smile. After leaving for a moment to retrieve a band-aid, he grasped the tiny hand once more and wrapped it with care. He held the little hand a moment longer than required and looked up to the blue eyes once again to see that a stronger smile had appeared on the youth's face. After a moment the 8 year old had wrapped his arms around the Butler's neck and was loudly exclaiming his thanks in the high pitched voice of a child. Closing his eyes tightly the Butler had layed his own arms on the back of the boy to return the hug, and allowed a smile to grace his features.

When Dick was 18, Alfred had crossed the room with a worried expression, and taken the teenager's hand in his own, slightly larger, and much more aged hands as he inspected the small cut across the palm. He pulled out the hankerchief and wrapped it around the shallow cut that was bleeding slightly. Looking at his patient, he saw the boy give him a half smile of appreciation. After making sure the minor cut stopped bleeding he returned the hankerchief to his own pocket and reluctantly let go of the hand after holding it a moment longer than strictly needed. Dick had given the Butler one of his thousand-watt smiles and a hug, and his thanks, and Alfred had closed his eyes once more against the embrace and smiled at his grandson's appreciation.

There were times of course when wounds couldn't be helped with a band-aid and a hug. Being a vigilante caused more pain than papercuts. But Alfred had always succeeded at being kind and gental to both of his patients, Dick and Bruce, in that caring, loving way that only the truest and deepest of souls could give.

Knee scrapes and shrapnel wounds would recieve the same look of concentration as the Butler worked to inflict as little pain as possible, while insuring full healing potential. Flesh wounds or bullet wounds, paper cuts or stitches, bruises or bloody knuckles: they would all be given proper care by the man who knew his two family members almost as well as he knew himself.

He would sit in the Cave, or make himself busy nearby, awaiting the return of the other two members of the Manor, so that he could assure himself of the well-being of the two. He told himself it was for their sakes, that if they needed help he would be present when they returned as soon as possible, but he knew deep down that even if he tried to go to sleep without seeing them return safely, he would not be able to. So day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year, the Butler would await the arrival of his family, the two people closest to him in the world. He would stay awake so he could tend to their wounds or sigh in relief if they came back unharmed.

Bruce always said Alfred was the one who kept the Manor running, and truly Alfred could be regarded as the very heart of the Manor. He tended to the people who lived there and the house itself. Even if the harm was the kind that could not be healed with his gental hands. He would never be able to rid the Acrobat of the horrible memories of the psycotic criminals he fought every night. He would never be able to rid the Billionaire of the memories of the soul-less crooks that stole the lives of the innocent. But he would always try.

Alfred's true gift was healing phisical wounds, but healing mental and emotional wounds would come in a close second. Whether the incident was the murder Dick witnessed on Patrol the night before, or a break-up with a girlfriend, Alfred always knew what to say to the boy. Even times where he was at a loss of words (examples being when Dick or Bruce would ask 'Why them? Why did my parents have to die?') Alfred could always give soothing comfort, or if nothing else a warm shoulder to cry on.

So in short, Alfred Pennyworth has a gift, the gift of a true and deep soul. He possesses a fierce love of his two family members that he shares a home with, and an intense want to make their lives as smooth as possible. So whether it be a cut or scrape, bruise or bullet wound, nightmare or emotional trauma, he was always there. And he always would be.


End file.
